


Where Do We Go From Here?

by Bleach_ed_Na_tsu



Series: Rings!Verse [2]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:16:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleach_ed_Na_tsu/pseuds/Bleach_ed_Na_tsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spin-off from 'His Boss'; There are seven souls within Vongola who have followed the Bosses and their guardians since Primo's time. It has been their duty and what they were born to do. An endless cycle of possession, separation, battle, reunion and loss. As usual, Decimo generation has changed all the status-quo, so for these seven souls... where do they go from here?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Do We Go From Here?

We’ve been passed from person to person since our birth.  
We can’t even remember who it was that created us, though from time to time I think we meet him as he passes like a spectre through the histories, checking up on us or our bosses we never really are sure, all we know is that out existence is long, arduous and seemingly insignificant and unappreciated. Or maybe it is. I suppose we wouldn’t understand true appreciation, or true disapproval. All we know is cycles, pain, and short-lived joy.  
We lived happily for a few decades, lived as symbols of power and strength. We were feared, awed over, we were even lusted after. We were given many names and were given seven masters, but we had one boss and one purpose. For a few decades we lived by that.  
Then something happened within our famiglia.  
Out boss dies, or retired, something we’ve never been sure of, all we know is that all of a sudden we’re being shoved into a little box with silken sheets and shelved like some expensive doll children ought not to play with.   
Then there’s pain, heat and anguish.  
Have you ever had your soul split?  
No? I guess that’s something that would kill a normal person, but not us. No, we’re made of stronger stuff.  
We were broken apart by hammer and human greed. Our new boss could not make up his mind, the two heads of decision could not agree and their arguments led to strife and uncontrolled bloodshed. Our old boss, dead as he may have been, alive as he may have been, he surely would have been agonised to see our famiglia so disjointed and tainted.  
“A battle. Each candidate will be given half of the ring and they will fight for the other half.”  
Words of agreement, of encouragement and continued bloodshed fell around or deafened ears. We were confused and curious. Apprehension settled within our steeled stomachs. What were rings, what were these battles? Why were these people encouraging more bloodshed?  
That first ‘battle’ was non-important to us at the time. No, instead our world was pain and agony and soul crushing oppression.  
We were each broken into two halves. Each side of our bodies harbouring half a soul that was to act as a whole. It was excruciating. Never have I, or my brethren felt so betrayed and used. Why, why were we abused so.  
Then we were expected to play the parts of jewellery and not as symbols of power and respect; no we were symbols of blood and lust.   
It was a disgusting feeling. To feel lusted over, to have no control over how held you, who touched you, who envies you. We felt naked, exposed. Dirty.  
Then suddenly applause. Clapping, crying, grunts and victory. We were still writhing in agony, spilt apart to be two wholes when we were no longer ever going to be whole again. I don’t think any of us actually realised we were with new bosses, or that out two halves were with different bosses. But I know that all of a sudden we were together again.  
The force was harsh and sudden. Pressed together like a child slotting, pressing, forcing a square block through a small hexagonal hole, sure it will fit, but it was going to need brute force and harsh laughter.  
But the feeling was jovial. Pure euphoria.  
We were each whole again.  
For another few decades.  
It happened again. We were forced apart for battle and sport. It felt like sport. We lost our meaning; we lost our respect and honour. We felt dirty, exposed and filthy. But it was out life.  
A dull ache settled upon us. An unfulfilled anticipation. We knew what was coming. Every time a few decades passed- less time in some cases and wasn’t that an unwelcomed surprise- we were ripped apart again. Agony was out world. Ripped and torn and pulled apart until our souls could no longer cling together when- after a short time, months, days, it’s hard to say- our halves were reunited. I gave up clinging to my other half. It hurt too much to cling on and be torn to tatters.  
Our lives, for nine cycles, were dull, agonised and jovial cycles of use, tossing, storage, separation, battle and reunion before it started again. And it was always on time, always one generation long. Just enough time for us to settle with a new boss before they were taken from us or grew bored of us I don’t know.  
All we knew was this cycle. Nine cycles of the same painful thing.  
I think it was soon after our separation that we began consciously taking part in these battles over us. Though out actions were subtle and precise enough to leave a lasting impression and that meant we weren’t able to intervene often.   
We felt whored out, because we had no right to choose out boss, we were used, passed on, used and passed on again. Such whores were common in our various boss’ world, but that didn’t mean we wanted to be such whored out humans who knew no other life.  
Then something new happened. There was blazing warmth like no other. It felt the same, sleeping half-souled at some new boss’ side. Doing our duty as their trophy and trying to regain our pride as symbols of power- like we were born to be.  
There was screeching and tears. There was tossing and screaming. Out boss didn’t want us. I remember hitting the floor, hitting it so hard so many times. My boss didn’t want me.  
It was such a strange concept to us. Usually our boss lusted for us.  
But soon enough that strangeness left, because the boss let up take out usual position at his side, like they always did, and the fear and bitterness of anticipation appeared again, dying our world a dull, agonizing monochrome from which we were never to escape.  
The fighting began again. Burning, broiling. It is so hard. We can feel everything, separated we may be, but we started as one soul, one body. Splitting us only gives us the phantom agony of feeling and abuse. It is so excruciating that I cannot even tell you, none of us can. We would not want to scar you with such bloodcurdling detail and abuse. It isn’t fair.  
I mean, how do you think it feels what your soul is split in two and you are duty bound to support both sides but to wish for neither’s victory. And doing that every generation because your boss just keeps dying in the most brutal, unsatisfying way.  
Then suddenly there was another reunion. But we chose this. It was sudden, unconscious. It didn’t make sense. But we choose. We burned our other boss, made it so he could not move and could not fight. He was not to be our boss.  
No, the warmth was to be out boss.  
It was wonderful, warm, close, closer to being whole than anything since out original form.  
But the fighting continued. It usually did, and that sent strikes of dread into out guts. We questioned each other. Were we going to be split again, so soon? Did our new boss dislike us? Did we do something unsatisfactory?  
Nothing happened though for a while. That is until the fighting spiked.   
We were a medium to fight when we were not separated and whored out.  
And as out tenth boss fought, we melted as a medium. This split form of ours was weak and feeble. Simply scum.  
But we changed.  
It was glorious, wonderful, fulfilling. Beautiful.  
Glimmering stone and sparking colour. Our original boss returned with a sad smile and a beautiful duty.  
To give us our pride back.  
Our strength, our respect. Our new boss gave us what our old boss had us born for, and it was wonderful; we questioned again what our new boss would do, because no one had given us such freedom. We had been completely cleaned of all the taint and filth in one glorious, warm second.  
Then the fighting calmed again and we were greeted by friends. Eight new souls joined our crusade. New strength, new pride, new respect. Now we no longer had to bear to pain of being symbols of power alone. Now we had partners, partners to share those disgusting lusty looks with. Partners to share the grief with.  
Though, all our partners promised one thing, that we would never be separated again. They gave us the chance for our souls to heal.  
Fighting started again. We were pushed to out utter limits as mediums once again. It hurt you know. But not in that excruciating way of soul-splitting. No, this hurt because we could not help.  
Then out creator appeared again. He made a deal with our bosses. Make a sacrifice, take a chance and maybe we’d get stronger.  
We were shocked. Because our creator was never so nice to our bosses-he was a smart man, he knew they whored us out, he knew we had lost our pride and self-respect. Maybe he knew this new boss promised protection.  
We all decided together that we’d call out to these new bosses. If they succeeded then they truly were worth the risk and the pain of the past nine separations. If they didn’t, well, at least we die as wholes.  
We changed so many times in such a short amount of physical time. It was strange, new, and wonderful; filling us all with such vivid anticipation. We reverted to our original forms, and then morphed into something new and wonderful.  
It has been so long since this unknown has washed over us. We have lived for so long, and only one other time has this fear gripped at our bodies and promised pain and joy and anxious anticipation to boil in our souls. Last time this bubbling feeling ended in the dull cycle of initiation, separation, reunion and grief.   
I can’t help but wonder, as I’m sure my partners do, how it is we will be passed on, because I can feel it in my entire body, we cannot be separated as the Half-Vongola rings ever again. We are whole, as Primo intended us to be, so, the question is, where do we go from here?

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn’t understand, this is from the point of view of the Vongola rings. Through their separation in Primo’s time, through their continuous separation and reunion to Tsuna’s time and through the various battles and their metamorphosis.   
> Hope I didn’t screw this up too bad. This is a gift fic form me to you on my birthday (August 14th late I know) and I hope you enjoy :p  
> Thanks  
> Bleach-ed-Na-tsu :3


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